


Dark Side of the Moon

by bvckybcrnes



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, One Shot, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Past Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Queenie is a Good Bro, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bvckybcrnes/pseuds/bvckybcrnes
Summary: Percival Graves has flashbacks, but outwardly just sort of goes catatonic and doesn't remember what happened when he comes around. Everyone just assumes it's related to an injury from the Great War...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt:  
> As a child, Percival was sexually abused. Whoever did it was a powerful enough magician that they were able to box up and repress the memories. However, as an adult things will still sometimes get triggered-- Percival has flashbacks, but outwardly just sort of goes catatonic then doesn't remember what happened when he comes around. Everyone just assumes it's related to an injury from the Great War.
> 
> Until Queenie is around during one of his episodes and sees what's happening in his head.

_This man… He’s too… Too big. He is tall and scary and way too kind for what he’s doing, because kindness never comes with pain, right? There’s something off about him, about all of this, but-_

-

He thought he had seen him on his way to work. It wasn’t uncommon for Percival to make the walk instead of using a spell. He liked the short walk between his home and the tall office building. 

His index finger was tapping on the dark wood of his desk rather impatiently, as if he were annoyed with something. In fact, Percival just needed some kind of noise to remind him that he was still there, in his office at MACUSA, and not wherever his mind was trying to take him.

_The boy cries out. His sobs are soft and tender, almost like the hands on his body. The tears didn’t have the time to roll down his soft cheeks. A fat, warm thumb always brushes them away even before they have a chance to escape from the corner of his eye. The thumb’s touch is as tender as any other touch on the child’s small body. “You’re such a pretty boy, Percy,” a low voice says. The man’s face is dangerously close - and so is the rest of him - and the glistening look in his eyes is one that terrified the young boy._

That’s where Percival recognized the face from. Well, perhaps not the face, but certainly the eyes. There was something in them that made him think of the man who was on his mind just now. He hadn’t even realized at the moment itself, when he saw the guy, what was so strange about him. Back then on the street, he only seemed like another simple No-Maj. 

Why was Percival even thinking about this? No, why did he have vivid images of a young boy being touched in ways young boys should not be touched? 

Percival shook his head briefly. This possibly couldn’t be anything more than just another effect of the Great War he’d been a part of, terrifying events that had come to an end a good while ago.

-

_Pa’s office is his least favourite place in the house. It once used to be the boy’s preferred hide out when he was playing hide and seek with Mum. But now, the place has been soiled.  
Pa has a friend. He is as tall as him and works for him. There is something about the guy, something strange. He likes Pa’s only son-_

-

Little paperwork had been finished that day. It wasn’t unusual. Ever since his return after the one week of illness he’d experienced in his entire career until now, less and less paperwork had been taken care of. Percival had slowed down in his way of working. It was a temporary issue, he had told the President. But this temporary issue was still going on and he wasn’t exactly the only one who was worried about this...if he even worried about it at all. Percival just tried to do as much paperwork as he could. At the end of the day, he often felt satisfied with what he’d managed to do. It was always better than nothing, but never enough.

“Mr. Graves.”

She never announced her entrances ever since she’d once stood outside a locked door to Percival’s office. That was months ago, when Graves’s paranoia suddenly was at a high. He’d shown a few strange things in his behavior and always brushed it off with the story of how it’s been exactly ten years since he had to fight in the Great War. Nowadays, the President decided to apparate in his office unannounced to avoid such a situation.

Percival flinched on his chair and nearly dropped the quill he’d refilled with fresh ink on his lap. He swallowed his groan and glared at the spilled ink on his desk. It was about to stain onto some of his documents. He pushed them out of the way and looked up. “Madam President.”

“How are you feeling?”

Percival brushed a quick hand down his chest, throwing his gaze downwards only briefly before he looked up again, their eyes meeting. “I’m alright, Madam President. It’s one of the first weeks where I experience clear progress,” he said, his voice confident, the opposite of what was on his mind. 

_“You’re such a good boy, Percival.” His thick voice is as disgusting as his breath. The boy wants to leave and run. He wants to escape, but there is a thick, firm hand holding him by his hip, fingers pressing in the pale flesh through his white linen shirt. The boy gives a small squirm in return. Perhaps the man would let him go if he saw the child wasn’t feeling comfortable. “So quiet. So obedient. Almost like me whenever your father bosses me around.”_   
_“Please, sir… Let me go.”_   
_“But Percy, we haven’t even started yet.”_

Ever since those few days of terrifying paranoia, there was a general concern for his wellbeing from the President and some of his aurors. It was only normal for them to worry about their Director. “Are you aware you’re slacking? On you work, I mean.” Picquery eyed him carefully, expressing a peaceful feeling rather than one of annoyance. Perhaps, everyone cared more about Percival than he did about himself. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m willing to assign someone to assist you, Mr. Graves.”

“I don’t consider it necessary.”

_Pa’s friend doesn’t know how to keep his hands at home. He always has them on the son’s skin. He always touches the boy where the boy does not want to be touched. Pa’s friend has no ears for the boy’s pleas and cries, or his sobs and squirms. If he makes a sound, the man would cover his mouth and use his free hand to touch the child where he would remember it the most._

Graves shifted in his chair, aching to cross his legs or at least close them firmly. “I’m capable of finishing my work in time, Madam President.”

“Ah well, Mrs. Goldstein informed me she’s willing to help you, Mr. Graves.”

“Which one?”

“Queenie.”

Percival dropped his gaze again. He wasn’t as familiar with Queenie as he was with her sister. He’d only heard about her via Tina and for as far as he knows, she had only little experience with his kind of work. He looked up at the President again and spoke. “Isn’t she the one bringing around coffee and biscuits?”

“Indeed, but she does have a history with paperwork as well, Mr. Graves.”

-

_They always meet in Pa’s office. Never anywhere else. Pa is never there. Neither is Mum. Where is Mum even when all this happens? The boy gets scared as he thinks about it again. There was a certain procedure in his way of thinking when Pa’s friend comes around. Who is he? Why does he do this? Where is he going to touch the boy today? How long is it going to take?_

_Why can’t he remember anything when Mum comes home?_

-

Percival had insisted he could take care of his work on his own. He didn’t need someone’s help. Well, perhaps he could use it, but he refused to make that clear. He didn’t want to give off the feeling of the Great War still haunting him after all this time. It’s been too long. People might find him weak if he still suffers post traumatic stress after all these years. 

His finger tapped on the wood of his desk again. He sat looking forward, facing the wall opposite him, and remained silent. Percival spaced out slowly.

_Every time Pa’s friend comes around, he takes things further. It once was innocent. He told Percival how pretty he is and how he once will be just like his father. He told the child how much of a good boy he is and would occasionally pet his hair as he did so. He would touch the boy on his shoulder or his head, or the nape of his neck. Then, he’d move to his back and his lower back, and his sides._

“Mr. Graves?”

He flinched in his seat, blinking his eyes rapidly for a second. Percival looked up. “Goldstein.”

Queenie was peeking inside his office, only showing her head from behind the large, black door. She slowly slid inside with a certain sense of elegance and stood by the door. It would only be two steps if Mr. Graves wanted her to leave again. She wasn’t carrying any tea or biscuits today. “I’m here to help you, Mr. Graves… With your paperwork.” 

“I’m fine, Queenie. Thank you for the offer.”

The way she moved was as light and bright as her own voice. Queenie stepped closer, up until the empty chair on the other side of Percival’s desk. “Are you sure, Mr. Graves?” She almost sings when she talks.

_It goes on and on. Pa’s friend doesn’t want him to wear clothes anymore after a few times. He tells the boy to take them off and-_

“I’m pretty sure, Queenie. You can leave.”

“Oh, but Mr. Graves, I have nothing else to do. Madam President scheduled me to help you.”

_\- put them down on a chair. The boy listens and warms up a little when Pa’s friend calls him a good boy.-_

Percival had to bite back a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and brushed a thumb and index finger over his brows before he pinched the bridge of his nose. He really doesn’t want anyone around, not when his head is trying to knock him off his perch with stories he can’t even explain himself. What if she catches him spacing out? She’s of the curious kind. She will ask questions. 

“You can take these files back to Archives,” Percival then said. Sending her out of his office would offer him enough time to sort out his mind… Hopefully. 

_He nearly leans into the big, warm hand that pats him on the head once Percival is all naked._

Queenie nodded with a big smile on her lips and picked the stack of files up from his desk. Every move she made was so elegant, it almost annoyed Percival. She turned her heel swiftly and headed for the large, black door. “I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. Graves! And then I’ll help you with your paperwork!”

_Pa’s friend does not care about the vulnerability of the boy._

He threw Goldstein a look. Yeah, sure you will… Percival raised his hand and brushed her out. He didn’t really pay attention when she winked at him before disappearing from his office again. 

_“My, my, Percival. Aren’t you a pretty boy. Your parents did very well.” The child does not move. He stands in front of Pa’s friend. He looks up at the man and does not know if he should be just a little scared or absolutely petrified. Both are suitable, one will just make him cry and whimper - do things Pa’s friend does not like. “You are nothing alike to your father, apart from your looks.” A big hand ruffles the boy’s dark hair. It’s long on top and cut short on the sides and the back of his head. It’s how Pa liked it the most. It makes his son look more mature, even though he is only ten._   
_“Mum won’t like what you do to me,” the boy says. It’s one of the few times he tries to defend himself before he takes off his clothes for Pa’s friend._   
_“I don’t care what your mother thinks, Percy. Your father agrees with it.”_   
_The boy doubts his father would do this to his child. “Besides, if you’re quiet for me now, Percival, I will get you some candy.” The boy is only ten years old and says no more._

Percival leaned his head down on his desk. He had folded his arms underneath. A soft sigh escaped past his lips and he let his eyes fall shut. It all happened automatically, just like his toxic train of thoughts - things he can’t even comprehend nor explain. He moved further, until he felt the edge of his desk poke against his ribs.

_The wood of the desk hurts his ribs. The boy is a scrawny lad. He does not eat much, but it’s nothing to worry about. He never eats much. Pa’s friend was to blame, but no one knows, not even the boy once the man is finished with him. Pa’s friend always makes sure his son does not remember once he is finished._   
_Pa’s friend has the boy bending forward. He tells him to hold onto the desk and that it would not hurt. The boy listens to him and holds the edge in front of him with his both hands. He shivers when a big, warm hand travels over his back. It goes from his shoulders to the small of his back and stays on one of his small, pale cheeks. Something is rustling behind the boy and he wants to look. “Don’t,” Pa’s friend says and the child turns his head again._   
_“Don’t look. It won’t hurt.”_

“Oh sweetie!” Percival didn’t even respond when Queenie Goldstein rushed over to his side, wrapping one arm around him to rub both his shoulders. He remained down on top of his desk, murmuring softly with his eyes closed. His brows furrowed under the unpleasant memories and his body would give small flinches, brushing his chest against the edge of the desk. His back tensed a little when he squint his eyes shut. He produced something that could pass as a soft moan.

_The boy does not want to moan or make any noise that was not one of fear. Moans are the sounds of pleasure. He remember his mother making these sounds in her bedroom, when Percival had accidentally walked in on her and Pa one night._   
_Pa’s friend has big hands. Percival knows this. His fingers are like big worms. They are long and wriggly and they feel so weird. They feel so strange on the boy’s skin, but they feel even worse where they are now. The boy’s body thrashes forward. He had bruised his hip a moment ago, when he felt something entering him from behind._   
_Pa’s friend keeps his hand on the boy’s back. He uses the other hand to wriggle one long and fat finger inside of the boy. He does not speak and only watches the child wriggle and writhe underneath his hands like a small lamb that was about to be slaughtered. “Your father should teach you to sit still, Percy,” the man says. The child whimpers softly as he pushes a second finger inside of the boy._

“Mr. Graves? Mr. Graves, you will be fine!” Queenie didn’t want to give up. Her Legilimency had brought her to the same place Percival was right now. She saw what he was seeing, but couldn’t feel as much as he was going through. All Queenie could do was hope he would come back soon so the terrifying thoughts would go away. “You are at work, Mr. Graves. You are not at home. Open your eyes, Mr. Graves!”

Percival thrashed in his seat. The skin near his hairline was starting to glisten. He was sweating. Queenie kept rubbing his shoulders before she moved one hand to his back. Usually, rubbing one's back helps them to calm down. “Oh, sweetie. I did not know you have been through all this trouble!”

_“P-Please-”_

“Please, no!”

A gasp. He was back. Queenie pulled back and held her hands to her chest. She remained stood by Percival’s side and let the man catch his breath again. He needed it. His breaths were rapid and his eyes were wide. He would soon brush the hair out of his eyes, Queenie could tell. 

A silence followed and Percival kept looking right in front of him. He sat up in his chair, back arched in a straight line as if he were a statue. He had dropped his hands to his lap. They were clawing at his black trousers for as long as he tried to control his breath. Queenie stayed in her position, hands still clutched to her chest. She then leaned forward a little and spoke softly. “Mr. Graves, you’re back.”

Percival turned his head sternly and gazed up at her. His eyes were tearing a little, but he hadn’t noticed yet. Queenie leaned for the pocket in her bright pink vest and took out a handkerchief. “You should wipe your eyes, sweetie. You had a bad dream.”

“I fell asleep?” Percival took the handkerchief and hesitated for a moment before he brought it up to his eyes. They were wet, indeed. He looked at the stains on the baby blue fabric before he gave it back to Queenie. “I think you did, Mr. Graves,” she said when she tucked her handkerchief back in her pocket. Percival diverted his gaze again. He looked at the paperwork on his desk. It laid shattered all over its surface. It must have been a very bad dream, but what about? 

Queenie folded her hands in front of her and wiggled on her feet a little. She kept an eye on Percival and bit down on the inside of her bottom lip. She was thinking, thinking about what she had seen once she came back from the archives. “Oh, poor Mr. Graves,” she said. It was barely audible, but Percival had caught it anyway. “Hm?”

“Oh no, Mr. Graves. I think you should take some rest. Ask Madam President if you can stay home for the week. I will take care of your paperwork for you!”

“I’d rather lose an arm, Goldstein.” Percival finally brushed a hand through his hair. He then shoved his chair closer to his desk and began gathering his paperwork. He hadn’t fallen asleep. He couldn’t have. He never falls asleep at work. He works. “Bring me another coffee, please, since you’re convinced I fell asleep.” 

“As you wish, Mr. Graves.” Queenie turned her heel and headed for the large, black door. Mr. Graves wants a coffee. Perhaps he needs more, but she doesn’t know for sure. She had seen what was on his mind and had been watching him for a while from her spot near the door where Percival always made her stop in her tracks, but he didn’t seem to know what he’d seen himself - as if he doesn’t even remember at all! 

It was so dark and so terrible. It had left Queenie overwhelmed and surprised. She nearly bumped into a colleague as she wandered through the hallways with a little less elegance than usual. People who really knew her would notice. She was glad no such people met her on her way. They would ask what was wrong, but she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even tell poor Mr. Graves. 

Queenie went and she thought to herself as she went, she thought about what she would say if she met a familiar face. She thought about what she should tell Mr. Graves.

“Oh sweetie, I’ve seen the dark side of the moon!”


End file.
